and B. C. to B. A.
Harmoniously equal for ever must stay;
Then C. A. and B. C.
Both extend the kind hand
40 To the basis A. B,
Unambitiously join’d in Equality’s Band.
But to the same powers, when two powers are equal,
My mind forebodes the sequel;
My mind does some celestial impulse teach,
And equalizes each to each.
Thus C. A. with B. C. strikes the same sure alliance,
That C. A. and B. C. had with A. B. before;
And in mutual affiance
None attempting to soar
50 Above another,
The unanimous three
C. A. and B. C. and A. B.
All are equal, each to his brother,
Preserving the balance of power so true:
Ah! the like would the proud Autocratix do!
At taxes impending not Britain would tremble,
Nor Prussia struggle her fear to dissemble;
Nor the Mah’met-sprung wight
The great Mussulman
60 Would stain his Divan
With Urine the soft-flowing daughter of Fright.
IV
But rein your stallion in, too daring Nine!
Should Empires bloat the scientific line?
Or with dishevell’d hair all madly do ye run
For transport that your task is done?
For done it is – the cause is tried!
And Proposition, gentle maid,
Who soothly ask’d stern Demonstration’s aid,
Has prov’d her right, and A. B. C.
70 Of Angles three
Is shown to be of equal side;
And now our weary steed to rest in fine,
’Tis raised upon A. B. the straight, the given line.
Honour
O, Curas hominum! O, quantum est in rebus inane!
The fervid Sun had more than halv’d the day,
When gloomy on his couch Philedon lay;
His feeble frame consumptive as his purse,
His aching head did wine and women curse;
His fortune ruinèd and his wealth decay’d,
Clamorous his Duns, his gaming debts unpaid,
The youth indignant seiz’d his tailor’s bill,
And on its back thus wrote with moral quill:
‘Various as colours in the rainbow shown,
10 Or similar in emptiness alone,
How false, how vain are Man’s pursuits below!
Wealth, Honour, Pleasure – what can ye bestow?
Yet see, how high and low, and young and old
Pursue the all delusive power of Gold.
Fond man! should all Peru thy empire own,
For thee tho’ all Golconda’s jewels shone,
What greater bliss could all this wealth supply?
What, but to eat and drink and sleep and die?
Go, tempt the stormy sea, the burning soil –
20 Go, waste the night in thought, the day in toil,
Dark frowns the rock, and fierce the tempests rave –
Thy ingots go the unconscious deep to pave!
Or thunder at thy door the midnight train,
Or death shall knock that never knocks in vain.
Next Honour’s sons come bustling on amain;
I laugh with pity at the idle train.
Infirm of soul! who think’st to lift thy name
Upon the waxen wings of human fame –
Who for a sound, articulated breath –
30 Gazest undaunted in the face of death!
What art thou but a Meteor’s glaring light –
Blazing a moment and then sunk in night?
Caprice which rais’d thee high shall hurl thee low,
Or envy blast the laurels on thy brow.
To such poor joys could ancient Honour lead
When empty fame was toiling Merit’s mead;
To Modern Honour other lays belong;
Profuse of joy and Lord of right and wrong,
Honour can game, drink, riot in the stew,
40 Cut a friend’s throat – what cannot Honour do?
Ah me – the storm within can Honour still
For Julio’s death, whom Honour made me kill?
Or will this lordly Honour tell the way
To pay those debts, which Honour makes me pay?
Or if with pistol and terrific threats
I make some traveller pay on Honour’s debts,
A med’cine for this wound can Honour give?
Ah, no! my Honour dies to make my Honour live.
But see! young Pleasure and her train advance,
50 And joy and laughter wake the inebriate dance;
Around my neck she throws her fair white arms,
I meet her loves, and madden at her charms.
For the gay grape can joys celestial move,
And what so sweet below as Woman’s love?
With such high transport every moment flies,
I curse experience, that he makes me wise;
For at his frown the dear deliriums flew,
And the chang’d scene now wears a gloomy hue.
A hideous hag th’ Enchantress Pleasure seems,
60 And all her joys appear but feverous dreams.
The vain Resolve still broken and still made,
Disease and loathing and remorse invade;
The charm is vanish’d and the bubble’s broke –
A slave to pleasure is a slave to smoke!’
Such lays repentant did the Muse supply;
When as the Sun was hastening down the sky,
In glittering state twice fifty guineas come –
His Mother’s plate antique had rais’d the sum.
Forth leap’d Philedon of new life possest:
70 ’Twas Brookes’s all till two – ’twas Hackett’s all the rest!
On Imitation
All are not born to soar – and ah! how few
In tracks where Wisdom leads their paths pursue!
Contagious when to wit or wealth allied,
Folly and Vice diffuse their venom wide.
5 On Folly every fool his talent tries;
It asks some toil to imitate the wise;
Tho’ few like Fox can speak – like Pitt can think –
Yet all like Fox can game – like Pitt can drink.
Inside the Coach
’Tis hard on Bagshot Heath to try
Unclos’d to keep the weary eye;
But ah! Oblivion’s nod to get
In rattling coach is harder yet.
Slumbrous God of half shut eye!
Who lov’st with Limbs supine to lie;
Soother sweet of toil and care
Listen, listen to my prayer;
And to thy votary dispense
10 Thy soporific influence!
What tho’ around thy drowsy head
The seven-fold cap of night be spread,
Yet lift that drowsy head awhile
And yawn propitiously a smile;
In drizzly rains poppean dews
O’er the tir’d inmates of the Coach diffuse;
And when thou’st charm’d our eyes to rest
Pillowing the chin upon the breast,
Bid many a dream from thy dominions
20 Wave its various-painted pinions,
Till ere the splendid visions close
We snore quartettes in ecstacy of nose.
While thus we urge our airy course,
Oh may no jolt’s electric force
Our fancies from their steeds unhorse,
And call us from thy fairy reign
To dreary Bagshot Heath again!
Devonshire Roads
The indignant Bard compos’d this furious ode,
As tired he dragg’d his way thro’ Plimtree road!
Crusted with filth and stuck in mire
Dull sounds the Bard’s bemudded lyre;
Nathless Revenge and Ire the Poet goad
To pour his imprecations on the road.
Curst road! whose execrable way
Was darkly shadow’d out in Milton’s lay,
When the sad fiends thro’ Hell’s sulphureous roads
10 Took the first survey of their new abodes;
Or when the fall’n Archangel fierce
Dar’d through the realms of Night to pierce,
What time the Blood Hound lur’d by Human scent
Thro’ all Confusion’s quagmires floundering went.
Nor cheering pipe, nor Bird’s shrill note
Around thy dreary paths shall float;
Their boding songs shall scritch owls pour
To fright the guilty shepherds sore,
Led by the wandering fires astray
20 Thro’ the dank horrors of thy way!
While they their mud-lost sandals hunt
May all the curses, which they grunt
In raging moan like goaded hog,
Alight upon thee, damnèd Bog!
Music
Hence, soul-dissolving Harmony
That lead’st th’ oblivious soul astray –
Though thou sphere descended be –
Hence away!
Thou mightier Goddess, thou demand’st my lay,
Born when earth was seiz’d with cholic;
Or as more sapient sages say,
What time the Legion diabolic
Compelled their beings to enshrine
10 In bodies vile of herded swine,
Precipitate adown the steep
With hideous rout were plunging in the deep,
And hog and devil mingling grunt and yell
Seiz’d on the ear with horrible obtrusion;
Then if aright old legendaries tell,
Wert thou begot by Discord on Confusion!
What tho’ no name’s sonorous power
Was given thee at thy natal hour –
Yet oft I feel thy sacred might,
20 While concords wing their distant flight.
Such power inspires thy holy son
Sable clerk of Tiverton.
And oft where Otter sports his stream,
I hear thy banded offspring scream.
Thou Goddess! thou inspir’st each throat;
’Tis thou who pour’st the scritch owl note!
Transported hear’st thy children all
Scrape and blow and squeak and squall,
And while old Otter’s steeple rings,
30 Clappest hoarse thy raven wings!
Absence
A FAREWELL ODE ON QUITTING SCHOOL FOR
JESUS COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE
Where graced with many a classic spoil
Cam rolls his reverend stream along,
I haste to urge the learned toil
That sternly chides my love-lorn song:
Ah me! too mindful of the days
Illumed by Passion’s orient rays,
When peace, and Cheerfulness, and Health
Enriched me with the best of wealth.
Ah fair Delights! that o’er my soul
10 On Memory’s wing, like shadows fly!
Ah Flowers! which Joy from Eden stole
While Innocence stood smiling by!
But cease, fond Heart! this bootless moan:
Those Hours on rapid Pinions flown
Shall yet return, by Absence crowned,
And scatter livelier roses round.
The Sun who ne’er remits his fires
On heedless eyes may pour the day:
The Moon, that oft from Heaven retires,
20 Endears her renovated ray.
What though she leave the sky unblest
To mourn awhile in murky vest?
When she relumes her lovely Light,
We bless the Wanderer of the Night.
Sonnet on the Same
Farewell parental scenes! a sad farewell!
To you my grateful heart still fondly clings,
Tho’ fluttering round on Fancy’s burnish’d wings
Her tales of future Joy Hope loves to tell.
Adieu, adieu! ye much lov’d cloisters pale!
Ah! would those happy days return again,
When ’neath your arches, free from every stain,
I heard of guilt and wonder’d at the tale!
Dear haunts! where oft my simple lays I sang,
10 Listening meanwhile the echoings of my feet,
Lingering I quit you, with as great a pang,
As when erewhile, my weeping childhood, torn
By early sorrow from my native seat,
Mingled its tears with hers – my widow’d Parent lorn.
Happiness
On wide or narrow scale shall Man
Most happily describe life’s plan?
Say, shall he bloom and wither there,
Where first his infant buds appear;
Or upwards dart with soaring force,
And tempt some more ambitious course?
Obedient now to Hope’s command,
I bid each humble wish expand,
And fair and bright Life’s prospects seem,
10 While Hope displays her cheering beam,
And Fancy’s vivid colourings stream,
While Emulation stands me nigh
The Goddess of the eager eye.
With foot advanc’d and anxious heart
Now for the fancied goal I start –
Ah! why will Reason intervene
Me and my promised joys between!
She stops my course, she chains my speed,
While thus her forceful words proceed.
20 ‘Ah! listen, youth, ere yet too late,
What evils on thy course may wait!
To bow the head, to bend the knee,
A minion of Servility,
At low Pride’s frequent frowns to sigh,
And watch the glance in Folly’s eye;
To toil intense, yet toil in vain,
And feel with what a hollow pain
Pale Disappointment hangs her head
O’er darling Expectation dead!
30 ‘The scene is changed and Fortune’s gale
Shall belly out each prosperous sail.
Yet sudden wealth full well I know
Did never Happiness bestow.
That wealth to which we were not born
Dooms us to sorrow or to scorn.
Behold yon flock which long had trod
O’er the short grass of Devon’s sod,
To Lincoln’s rank rich meads transferr’d,
And in their fate thy own be fear’d;
40 Through every limb contagions fly,
Deform’d and chok’d they burst and die.
‘When Luxury opens wide her arms,
And smiling wooes thee to those charms,
Whose fascination thousands own,
Shall thy brows wear the stoic frown?
And when her goblet she extends
Which madd’ning myriads press around,
What power divine thy soul befriends
That thou shouldst dash it to the ground?
50 No, thou shalt drink, and thou shalt know
Her transient bliss, her lasting woe,
Her maniac joys, that know no measure,
And riot rude and painted pleasure;
Till (sad reverse!) the Enchantress vile
To frowns converts her magic smile;
Her train impatient to destroy,
Observe her frown with gloomy joy;
On thee with harpy fangs they seize
The hideous offspring of Disease,
60 Swoll’n Dropsy ignorant of Rest,
And Fever garb’d in scarlet vest,
Consumption driving the quick hearse,
And Gout that howls the frequent curse,
With Apoplex of heavy head
That surely aims his dart of lead.
‘But say Life’s joys unmix’d were given
To thee some favourite of Heaven:
Within, without, tho’ all were health –
Yet what e’en thus are Fame, Power, Wealth,
70 But sounds that variously express,
What’s thine already – Happiness!
’Tis thine the converse deep to hold
With all the famous sons of old;
And thine the happy waking dream While
Hope pursues some favourite theme,
As oft when Night o’er Heaven is spread,
Round this maternal seat you tread,
Where far from splendour, far from riot,
In silence wrapt sleeps careless quiet.
80 ’Tis thine with fancy oft to talk,
And thine the peaceful evening walk;
And what to thee the sweetest are –
The setting sun, the evening star –
The tints, which live along the sky,
And Moon that meets thy raptur’d eye,
Where oft the tear shall grateful start,
Dear silent pleasures of the Heart!
Ah! Being blest, for Heaven shall lend
To share thy simple joys a friend!
90 Ah! doubly blest, if Love supply
His influence to complete thy joy,
If chance some lovely maid thou find
To read thy visage in thy mind.
‘One blessing more demands thy care –
Once more to Heaven address the prayer:
For humble independence pray
The guardian genius of thy way;
Whom (sages say) in days of yore
Meek competence to wisdom bore,
100 So shall thy little vessel glide
With a fair breeze adown the tide,
And Hope, if e’er thou ’ginst to sorrow,
Remind thee of some fair to-morrow,
Till death shall close thy tranquil eye
While Faith proclaims ‘‘thou shalt not die!’’ ’
A Wish Written in Jesus Wood, Feb. 10th, 1792
Lo! thro’ the dusky silence of the groves,
Thro’ vales irriguous, and thro’ green retreats,
With languid murmur creeps the placid stream,
And works its secret way!
Awhile meand’ring round its native fields
It rolls the playful wave, and winds its flight:
Then downward flowing with awaken’d speed
Embosoms in the Deep!
Thus thro’ its silent tenor may my Life
10 Smooth its meek stream, by sordid Wealth unclogg’d,
Alike unconscious of forensic storms,
And Glory’s blood-stain’d palm!
And when dark Age shall close Life’s little day,
Satiate of sport, and weary of its toils,
E’en thus may slumbrous Death my decent limbs
Compose with icy hand!
An Ode in the Manner of Anacreon
As late in wreaths gay flowers I bound,
Beneath some roses Love I found,
And by his little frolic pinion
As quick as thought I seiz’d the minion,
Then in my Cup the prisoner threw,
And drank him in its sparkling dew:
And sure I feel my angry Guest
Flutt’ring his Wings within my breast!
To Disappointment
Hence! thou fiend of gloomy sway,
That lov’st on withering blast to ride
O’er fond Illusion’s air-built pride,
Sullen Spirit! Hence! Away!
Where Avarice lurks in sordid cell,
Or mad Ambition builds the dream,
Or Pleasure plots th’ unholy scheme,
There with Guilt and Folly dwell!
But oh! when Hope on Wisdom’s wing
10 Prophetic whispers pure delight,
Be distant far thy cank’rous blight,
Daemon of envenom’d sting!
Then haste thee, Nymph of balmy gales!
Thy poet’s prayer, sweet May! attend!
Oh! place my Parent and my Friend
’Mid her lovely native vales.
Peace, that lists the woodlark’s strains,
Health, that breathes divinest treasures,
Laughing Hours, and social Pleasures,
20 Wait my friend in Cambria’s plains.
Affection there with mingled ray
Shall pour at once the raptures high
Of Filial and Maternal Joy –
Haste thee then, Delightful May!
And oh! may Spring’s fair flowrets fade,
May Summer cease her limbs to lave
In cooling stream, may Autumn grave
Yellow o’er the corn-cloath’d glade,
Ere from sweet retirement torn
30 She seek again the crowded mart!
Nor thou, my selfish selfish heart,
Dare her slow return to mourn!
A Fragment Found in a Lecture-Room
Where deep in mud Cam rolls his slumbrous stream,
And Bog and Desolution reign supreme,
Where all Boe[o]tia clouds the misty brain,
The Owl Mathesis pipes her loathsome strain.
Far far aloof the frighted Muses fly,
Indignant Genius scowls and passes by:
The frolic Pleasures start amid their dance,
And Wit congealed stands fix’d in Wintry trance.
But to the sounds with duteous haste repair
10 Cold Industry, and wary-footed Care,
And Dullness, dosing on a couch of Lead,
Pleas’d with the song uplifts her heavy head,
The sympathetic numbers lists awhile,
Then yawns propitiously a frosty smile…
Cetera desunt.
Ode
Ye Gales, that of the Lark’s repose
The impatient Silence break,
To yon poor Pilgrim’s wearying Woes
Your gentle Comfort speak!
He heard the midnight whirlwind die,
He saw the sun-awaken’d Sky
Resume its slowly-purpling Blue:
And ah! he sigh’d – that I might find
The cloudless Azure of the Mind
10 And Fortune’s brightning Hue!
Where’er in waving Foliage hid
The Bird’s gay Charm ascends,
Or by the fretful current chid
Some giant Rock impends –
There let the lonely Cares respire
As small airs thrill the mourning Lyre
And teach the Soul her native Calm;
While Passion with a languid Eye
Hangs o’er the fall of Harmony
20 And drinks the sacred Balm.
Slow as the fragrant whisper creeps
Along the lilied Vale,
The alter’d Eye of Conquest weeps,
And ruthless War grows pale
Relenting that his Heart forsook
Soft Concord of auspicious Look,
And Love, and social Poverty;
The Family of tender Fears,
The Sigh, that saddens and endears,
30 And Cares, that sweeten Joy.
Then cease, thy frantic Tumults cease,
Ambition, Sire of War!
Nor o’er the mangled Corse of Peace
Urge on thy scythèd Car.
And oh! that Reason’s voice might swell
With whisper’d Airs and holy Spell
To rouse thy gentler Sense,
As bending o’er the chilly bloom
The Morning wakes its soft Perfume
40 With breezy Influence.
A Lover’s Complaint to his Mistress
The dubious light sad glimmers o’er the sky:
’Tis Silence all. By lonely anguish torn
With wandering feet to gloomy groves I fly,
And wakeful Love still tracks my course forlorn.
Ah! will you, cruel Julia! will you go?
And trust you to the Ocean’s dark dismay?
Shall the wide wat’ry world between us flow?
And Winds unpitying snatch my Hopes away?
Thus could you sport with my too easy heart?
10 Yet tremble, lest not unavenged I grieve!
The Winds may learn your own delusive art,
And faithless Ocean smile – but to deceive.
With Fielding’s Amelia
Virtues and Woes alike too great for man
In the soft tale oft claim the useless sigh;
For vain the attempt to realize the plan,
On folly’s wings must imitation fly.
With other aim has Fielding here display’d
Each social duty and each social care;
With just yet vivid colouring portray’d
What every wife should be, what many are.
And sure the Parent of a race so sweet
10 With double pleasure on the page shall dwell,
Each scene with sympathizing breast shall meet,
While Reason still with smiles delights to tell
Maternal hope, that her lov’d Progeny
In all but Sorrows shall Amelias be!
Written After a Walk Before Supper
Tho’ much averse, dear Jack, to flicker,
To find a likeness for friend V —ker,
I’ve made thro’ Earth, and Air, and Sea,
A Voyage of Discovery!
And let me add (to ward off strife)
For V —ker and for V—ker’s Wife –
SHE large and round beyond belief,
A superfluity of Beef!
Her mind and body of a piece,
10 And both composed of kitchen-grease.
In short, Dame Truth might safely dub her
Vulgarity enshrin’d in blubber!
He, meagre Bit of Littleness,
All snuff, and musk, and politesse;
So thin, that strip him of his clothing,
He’d totter on the edge of NOTHING!
In case of foe, he well might hide
Snug in the collops of her side.
Ah then, what simile will suit?
20 Spindle-leg in great jack-boot?
Pismire crawling in a rut?
Or a spigot in a butt?
Thus I humm’d and ha’d awhile,
When Madam Memory with a smile
Thus twitch’d my ear – ‘Why sure, I ween,
In London streets thou oft hast seen
The very image of this Pair:
A little Ape with huge She-Bear
Link’d by hapless chain together:
30 An unlick’d mass the one – the other
An antic small with nimble crupper —’
But stop, my Muse! for here comes Supper.
Imitated from Ossian
The stream with languid murmur creeps,
In Lumin’s flowery vale:
Beneath the dew the Lily weeps
Slow-waving to the gale.
‘Cease, restless gale!’ it seems to say,
‘Nor wake me with thy sighing!
The honours of my vernal day
On rapid wing are flying.
Tomorrow shall the Traveller come
10 Who late beheld me blooming:
His searching eye shall vainly roam
The dreary vale of Lumin.’
With eager gaze and wetted cheek
My wonted haunts along,
Thus, faithful Maiden! thou shalt seek
The Youth of simplest song.
But I along the breeze shall roll
The voice of feeble power;
And dwell, the Moon-beam of thy soul,
20 In Slumber’s nightly hour.
The Complaint of Ninathòma, from the Same
How long will ye round me be swelling,
O ye blue-tumbling waves of the sea?
Not always in caves was my dwelling,
Nor beneath the cold blast of the tree.
Through the high-sounding halls of Cathlòma
In the steps of my beauty I strayed;
The warriors beheld Ninathòma,
And they blessed the white-bosomed Maid!
A Ghost! by my cavern it darted!
10 In moon-beams the Spirit was drest –
For lovely appear the departed
When they visit the dreams of my rest!
But disturbed by the tempest’s commotion
Fleet the shadowy forms of delight –
Ah cease, thou shrill blast of the Ocean!
To howl through my cavern by night.
The Rose
As late each flower that sweetest blows
I plucked, the Garden’s pride!
Within the petals of a Rose
A sleeping Love I spied.
Around his brows a beamy wreath
Of many a lucent hue;
All purple glowed his cheek, beneath,
Inebriate with dew.
I softly seized the unguarded Power,
10 Nor scared his balmy rest:
And placed him, caged within the flower,
On spotless Sara’s breast.
But when unweeting of the guile
Awoke the prisoner sweet,
He struggled to escape awhile
And stamped his faery feet.
Ah! soon the soul-entrancing sight
Subdued the impatient boy!
He gazed! he thrilled with deep delight!
20 Then clapped his wings for joy.
‘And O!’ he cried – ‘of magic kind
What charms this Throne endear!
Some other Love let Venus find –
I’ll fix my empire here.’
Kisses
Cupid, if storying Legends tell aright,
Once fram’d a rich Elixir of Delight.
A Chalice o’er love-kindled flames he fix’d,
And in it Nectar and Ambrosia mix’d:
With these the magic dews which Evening brings,
Brush’d from the Idalian star by faery wings:
Each tender pledge of sacred Faith he join’d,
Each gentler Pleasure of th’ unspotted mind –
Day-dreams, whose tints with sportive brightness glow,
10 And Hope, the blameless parasite of Woe.
The eyeless Chemist heard the process rise,
The steamy Chalice bubbled up in sighs;
Sweet sounds transpired, as when the enamour’d Dove
Pours the soft murmuring of responsive Love.
The finish’d work might Envy vainly blame,
And ‘Kisses’ was the precious Compound’s name.
With half the God his Cyprian Mother blest,
And breath’d on Sara’s lovelier lips the rest.
Sonnet
Thou gentle Look, that didst my soul beguile,
Why hast thou left me? Still in some fond dream
Revisit my sad heart, auspicious Smile!
As falls on closing flowers the lunar beam:
What time, in sickly mood, at parting day
I lay me down and think of happier years;
Of Joys, that glimmered in Hope’s twilight ray,
Then left me darkling in a vale of tears.
O pleasant days of hope – for ever gone! –
10 Could I recall you! – But that thought is vain.
Availeth not Persuasion’s sweetest tone
To lure the fleet-winged Travellers back again:
Yet fair, though faint, their images shall gleam
Like the bright Rainbow on a willowy stream.
Sonnet to the River Otter
Dear native brook! wild streamlet of the West!
How many various-fated years have past,
What happy and what mournful hours, since last
I skimmed the smooth thin stone along thy breast,
Numbering its light leaps! yet so deep imprest
Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes
I never shut amid the sunny ray,
But straight with all their tints thy waters rise,
Thy crossing plank, thy marge with willows grey,
10 And bedded sand that, veined with various dyes,
Gleamed through thy bright transparence! On my way,
Visions of childhood! oft have ye beguiled
Lone manhood’s cares, yet waking fondest sighs:
Ah! that once more I were a careless child!
Lines on an Autumnal Evening
O thou wild Fancy, check thy wing! No more
Those thin white flakes, those purple clouds explore!
Nor there with happy spirits speed thy flight
Bathed in rich amber-glowing floods of light;
Nor in yon gleam, where slow descends the day,
With western peasants hail the morning ray!
Ah! rather bid the perished pleasures move,
A shadowy train, across the soul of Love!
O’er Disappointment’s wintry desert fling
10 Each flower that wreathed the dewy locks of Spring,
When blushing, like a bride, from Hope’s trim bower
She leapt, awakened by the pattering shower.
Now sheds the sinking Sun a deeper gleam,
Aid, lovely Sorceress! aid thy Poet’s dream!
With faery wand O bid the Maid arise,
Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright-blue eyes;
As erst when from the Muses’ calm abode
I came, with Learning’s meed not unbestowed;
When as she twined a laurel round my brow,
20 And met my kiss, and half returned my vow,
O’er all my frame shot rapid my thrilled heart,
And every nerve confessed the electric dart.
O dear Deceit! I see the Maiden rise,
Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright-blue eyes!
When first the lark high soaring swells his throat,
Mocks the tired eye, and scatters the loud note,
I trace her footsteps on the accustomed lawn,
I mark her glancing mid the gleam of dawn.
When the bent flower beneath the night dew weeps
30 And on the lake the silver lustre sleeps,
Amid the paly radiance soft and sad,
She meets my lonely path in moon-beams clad.
With her along the streamlet’s brink I rove;
With her I list the warblings of the grove;
And seems in each low wind her voice to float,
Lone whispering Pity in each soothing note!
Spirits of Love! ye heard her name! Obey
The powerful spell, and to my haunt repair.
Whether on clustering pinions ye are there,
40 Where rich snows blossom on the Myrtle trees,
Or with fond languishment around my fair
Sigh in the loose luxuriance of her hair;
O heed the spell, and hither wing your way,
Like far-off music, voyaging the breeze!
Spirits! to you the infant Maid was given
Formed by the wonderous Alchemy of Heaven!
No fairer Maid does Love’s wide empire know,
No fairer Maid e’er heaved the bosom’s snow.
A thousand Loves around her forehead fly;
50 A thousand Loves sit melting in her eye;
Love lights her smile – in Joy’s red nectar dips
His myrtle flower, and plants it on her lips.
She speaks! and hark that passion-warbled song –
Still, Fancy! still that voice, those notes prolong.
As sweet as when that voice with rapturous falls
Shall wake the softened echoes of Heaven’s Halls!
O (have I sighed) were mine the wizard’s rod,
Or mine the power of Proteus, changeful God!
A flower-entangled Arbour I would seem
60 To shield my Love from Noontide’s sultry beam:
Or bloom a Myrtle, from whose odorous boughs
My Love might weave gay garlands for her brows.
When Twilight stole across the fading vale,
To fan my Love I’d be the Evening Gale;
Mourn in the soft folds of her swelling vest,
And flutter my faint pinions on her breast!
On Seraph wing I’d float a Dream by night,
To soothe my Love with shadows of delight –
Or soar aloft to be the Spangled Skies,
70 And gaze upon her with a thousand eyes!
As when the savage, who his drowsy frame
Had basked beneath the Sun’s unclouded flame,
Awakes amid the troubles of the air,
The skiey deluge, and white lightning’s glare –
Aghast he scours before the tempest’s sweep,
And sad recalls the sunny hour of sleep:
So tossed by storms along Life’s wildering way,
Mine eye reverted views that cloudless day,
When by my native brook I wont to rove,
80 While Hope with kisses nursed the Infant Love.
Dear native brook! like Peace, so placidly
Smoothing through fertile fields thy current meek!
Dear native brook! where first young Poesy
Stared wildly-eager in her noontide dream!
Where blameless pleasures dimple Quiet’s cheek,
As water-lilies ripple thy slow stream!
Dear native haunts! where Virtue still is gay,
Where Friendship’s fix’d star sheds a mellowed ray,
Where Love a crown of thornless Roses wears,
90 Where softened Sorrow smiles within her tears;
And Memory, with a Vestal’s chaste employ,
Unceasing feeds the lambent flame of joy!
No more your sky-larks melting from the sight
Shall thrill the attunèd heart-string with delight –
No more shall deck your pensive Pleasures sweet
With wreaths of sober hue my evening seat.
Yet dear to Fancy’s eye your varied scene
Of wood, hill, dale, and sparkling brook between!
Yet sweet to Fancy’s ear the warbled song,
100 That soars on Morning’s wing your vales among.
Scenes of my Hope! the aching eye ye leave
Like yon bright hues that paint the clouds of eve!
Tearful and saddening with the saddened blaze
Mine eye the gleam pursues with wistful gaze:
Sees shades on shades with deeper tint impend,
Till chill and damp the moonless night descend.
To Fortune
ON BUYING A TICKET IN THE IRISH LOTTERY
Composed during a walk to and from the Queen’s Head, Gray’s Inn
Lane, Holborn, and Hornsby’s and Co., Cornhill.
Promptress of unnumber’d sighs,
O snatch that circling bandage from thine eyes!
O look, and smile! No common prayer
Solicits, Fortune! thy propitious care!
For, not a silken son of dress
I clink the gilded chains of politesse,
Nor ask thy boon what time I scheme
Unholy Pleasure’s frail and feverish dream;
Nor yet my view life’s dazzle blinds –
10 Pomp! – Grandeur! Power! – I give you to the winds!
Let the little bosom cold
Melt only at the sunbeam ray of gold –
My pale cheeks glow – the big drops start –
The rebel Feeling riots at my heart!
And if in lonely durance pent,
Thy poor mite mourn a brief imprisonment –
That mite at Sorrow’s faintest sound
Leaps from its scrip with an elastic bound!
But oh! if ever song thine ear
20 Might soothe, O haste with fost’ring hand to rear
One Flower of Hope! At Love’s behest,
Trembling, I plac’d it in my secret breast:
And thrice I’ve view’d the vernal gleam,
Since oft mine eye, with Joy’s electric beam,
Illum’d it – and its sadder hue
Oft moisten’d with the Tear’s ambrosial dew!
Poor wither’d floweret! on its head
Has dark Despair his sickly mildew shed!
But thou, O Fortune! canst relume
30 Its deaden’d tints – and thou with hardier bloom
May’st haply tinge its beauties pale,
And yield the unsunn’d stranger to the western gale!
Perspiration: A Travelling Eclogue
The Dust flies smothering, as on clatt’ring Wheels
Loath’d Aristocracy careers along.
The distant Track quick vibrates to the Eye,
And white and dazzling undulates with heat.
Where scorching to th’ unwary Traveller’s touch
The stone-fence flings its narrow Slip of Shade,
Or where the worn sides of the chalky Road
Yield their scant excavations (sultry Grots!),
Emblem of languid Patience, we behold
10 The fleecy Files faint-ruminating lie.
Lines
WRITTEN AT THE KING’S ARMS, ROSS, FORMERLY THE
HOUSE OF THE ‘MAN OF ROSS’
Richer than Miser o’er his countless hoards,
Nobler than Kings, or king-polluted Lords,
Here dwelt the Man of Ross! O Traveller, hear!
Departed Merit claims a reverent tear.
Friend to the friendless, to the sick man health,
With generous joy he viewed his modest wealth;
He heard the widow’s heaven-breathed prayer of praise,
He marked the sheltered orphan’s tearful gaze,
Or where the sorrow-shrivelled captive lay,
10 Pour’d the bright blaze of Freedom’s noon-tide ray.
Beneath this roof if thy cheered moments pass,
Fill to the good man’s name one grateful glass:
To higher zest shall Memory wake thy soul,
And Virtue mingle in the ennobled bowl.
But if, like me, through life’s distressful scene
Lonely and sad thy pilgrimage hath been;
And if thy breast with heart-sick anguish fraught,
Thou journeyest onward tempest-tossed in thought;
Here cheat thy cares! in generous visions melt,
20 And dream of Goodness, thou hast never felt!
Imitated from the Welsh
If, while my passion I impart,
You deem my words untrue,
O place your hand upon my heart –
Feel how it throbs for you!
Ah no! reject the thoughtless claim
In pity to your Lover!
That thrilling touch would aid the flame,
It wishes to discover.
Lines
TO A BEAUTIFUL SPRING IN A VILLAGE
Once more, sweet Stream! with slow foot wandering near,
I bless thy milky waters cold and clear.
Escaped the flashing of the noontide hours,
With one fresh garland of Pierian flowers
(Ere from thy zephyr-haunted brink I turn)
My languid hand shall wreath thy mossy urn.
For not through pathless grove with murmur rude
Thou soothest the sad wood-nymph, Solitude;
Nor thine unseen in cavern depths to well,
10 The hermit-fountain of some dripping cell!
Pride of the Vale! thy useful streams supply
The scattered cots and peaceful hamlet nigh.
The elfin tribe around thy friendly banks
With infant uproar and soul-soothing pranks,
Released from school, their little hearts at rest,
Launch paper navies on thy waveless breast.
The rustic here at eve with pensive look
Whistling lorn ditties leans upon his crook,
Or starting pauses with hope-mingled dread
20 To list the much-loved maid’s accustomed tread:
She, vainly mindful of her dame’s command,
Loiters, the long-filled pitcher in her hand.
Unboastful Stream! thy fount with pebbled falls
The faded form of past delight recalls,
What time the morning sun of Hope arose,
And all was joy; save when another’s woes
A transient gloom upon my soul imprest,
Like passing clouds impictured on thy breast.
Life’s current then ran sparkling to the noon,
30 Or silvery stole beneath the pensive Moon:
Ah! now it works rude brakes and thorns among,
Or o’er the rough rock bursts and foams along!
Imitations Ad Lyram
(CASIMIR, BOOK II, ODE 3)
The solemn-breathing air is ended –
Cease, O Lyre! thy kindred lay!
From the poplar-branch suspended
Glitter to the eye of Day!
On thy wires hov’ring, dying,
Softly sighs the summer wind:
I will slumber, careless lying,
By yon waterfall reclin’d.
In the forest hollow-roaring
10 Hark! I hear a deep’ning sound –
Clouds rise thick with heavy low’ring!
See! th’ horizon blackens round!
Parent of the soothing measure,
Let me seize thy wetted string!
Swiftly flies the flatterer, Pleasure,
Headlong, ever on the wing.
The Sigh
When Youth his faery reign began
Ere sorrow had proclaimed me man;
While Peace the present hour beguiled,
And all the lovely Prospect smiled;
Then Mary! ’mid my lightsome glee
I heav’d the painless Sigh for thee.
And when, along the waves of woe,
My harassed Heart was doomed to know
The frantic burst of Outrage keen,
10 And the slow Pang that gnaws unseen;
Then shipwrecked on Life’s stormy sea
I heaved an anguished Sigh for thee!
But soon Reflection’s power imprest
A stiller sadness on my breast;
And sickly hope with waning eye
Was well content to droop and die:
I yielded to the stern decree,
Yet heaved a languid Sigh for thee!
And though in distant climes to roam,
20 A wanderer from my native home,
I fain would soothe the sense of Care,
And lull to sleep the Joys that were,
Thy Image may not banished be –
Still, Mary! still I sigh for thee.
The Kiss
One kiss, dear maid! I said and sighed –
Your scorn the little boon denied.
Ah why refuse the blameless bliss?
Can danger lurk within a kiss?
Yon viewless Wanderer of the vale,
The Spirit of the Western Gale,
At Morning’s break, at Evening’s close
Inhales the sweetness of the Rose,
And hovers o’er the uninjured Bloom
10 Sighing back the soft perfume.
Vigour to the Zephyr’s wing
Her nectar-breathing Kisses fling;
And He the glitter of the Dew
Scatters on the Rose’s hue.
Bashful lo! she bends her head,
And darts a blush of deeper Red!
Too well those lovely lips disclose
The triumphs of the opening Rose;
O fair! O graceful! bid them prove
20 As passive to the breath of Love.
In tender accents, faint and low,
Well-pleased I hear the whispered ‘No!’
The whispered ‘No’ – how little meant!
Sweet Falsehood that endears Consent!
For on those lovely lips the while
Dawns the soft relenting smile,
And tempts with feigned dissuasion coy
The gentle violence of Joy.
To a Young Lady,
WITH A POEM ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
Much on my early youth I love to dwell,
Ere yet I bade that friendly dome farewell,
Where first, beneath the echoing cloisters pale
I heard of guilt and wondered at the tale!
Yet though the hours flew by on careless wing,
Full heavily of Sorrow would I sing.
Aye as the star of evening flung its beam
In broken radiance on the wavy stream,
My soul amid the pensive twilight gloom
10 Mourned with the breeze, O Lee Boo! o’er thy tomb.
Where’er I wandered, Pity still was near,
Breathed from the heart and glistened in the tear:
No knell that tolled, but filled my anxious eye,
And suffering Nature wept that one should die!
Thus to sad sympathies I soothed my breast,
Calm, as the rainbow in the weeping West:
When slumbering Freedom roused by high Disdain
With giant fury burst her triple chain!
Fierce on her front the blasting Dog-star glowed;
20 Her banners, like a midnight meteor, flowed;
Amid the yelling of the storm-rent skies
She came, and scattered battles from her eyes!
Then Exultation waked the patriot fire
And swept with wild hand the Tyrtæan lyre:
Red from the Tyrant’s wound I shook the lance,
And strode in joy the reeking plains of France!
Fallen is the oppressor, friendless, ghastly, low,
And my heart aches, though Mercy struck the blow.
With wearied thought once more I seek the shade,
30 Where peaceful Virtue weaves the myrtle braid.
And O! if Eyes whose holy glances roll,
Swift messengers, and eloquent of soul;
If Smiles more winning, and a gentler Mien
Than the love-wildered Maniac’s brain hath seen
Shaping celestial forms in vacant air,
If these demand the impassion’d Poet’s care –
If Mirth and softened Sense and Wit refined,
The blameless features of a lovely mind;
Then haply shall my trembling hand assign
40 No fading wreath to Beauty’s saintly shrine.
Nor, Sara! thou these early flowers refuse –
Ne’er lurked the snake beneath their simple hues;
No purple bloom the Child of Nature brings
From Flattery’s night-shade: as he feels he sings.
Translation
OF WRANGHAM’S ‘HENDECASYLLABI AD BRUNTONAM
E GRANTA EXITURAM’
Maid of unboastful charms! whom white-robed Truth
Right onward guiding through the maze of youth,
Forbade the Circe Praise to witch thy soul,
And dash’d to earth th’ intoxicating bowl:
Thee meek-eyed Pity, eloquently fair,
Clasp’d to her bosom with a mother’s care;
And, as she lov’d thy kindred form to trace,
The slow smile wander’d o’er her pallid face.
For never yet did mortal voice impart
10 Tones more congenial to the sadden’d heart:
Whether, to rouse the sympathetic glow,
Thou pourest lone Monimia’s tale of woe;
Or haply clothest with funereal vest
The bridal loves that wept in Juliet’s breast.
O’er our chill limbs the thrilling Terrors creep,
Th’ entranced Passions their still vigil keep;
While the deep sighs, responsive to the song,
Sound through the silence of the trembling throng.
But purer raptures lighten’d from thy face,
20 And spread o’er all thy form an holier grace,
When from the daughter’s breasts the father drew
The life he gave, and mix’d the big tear’s dew.
Nor was it thine th’ heroic strain to roll
With mimic feelings foreign from the soul:
Bright in thy parent’s eye we mark’d the tear;
Methought he said, ‘Thou art no Actress here!
A semblance of thyself the Grecian dame,
And Brunton and Euphrasia still the same!’
O soon to seek the city’s busier scene,
30 Pause thee awhile, thou chaste-eyed maid serene,
Till Granta’s sons from all her sacred bowers
With grateful hand shall weave Pierian flowers
To twine a fragrant chaplet round thy brow,
Enchanting ministress of virtuous woe!
To Miss Brunton
WITH THE PRECEDING TRANSLATION
That darling of the Tragic Muse,
When Wrangham sung her praise,
Thalia lost her rosy hues,
And sicken’d at her lays:
But transient was th’ unwonted sigh;
For soon the Goddess spied
A sister-form of mirthful eye,
And danc’d for joy and cried:
‘Meek Pity’s sweetest child, proud dame,
10 The fates have given to you!
Still bid your Poet boast her name;
I have my Brunton too.’
Epitaph on an Infant
Ere Sin could blight or Sorrow fade,
Death came with friendly care;
The opening bud to Heaven conveyed,
And bade it blossom there.
[Pantisocracy]
No more my Visionary Soul shall dwell
On Joys that were! No more endure to weigh
The Shame and Anguish of the evil Day,
Wisely forgetful! O’er the Ocean swell
Sublime of Hope I seek the cottag’d Dell,
Where Virtue calm with careless step may stray,
And dancing to the moonlight Roundelay
The Wizard Passions weave an holy Spell.
Eyes that have ach’d with Sorrow! ye shall weep
10 Tears of doubt-mingled Joy, like theirs who start
From Precipices of distemper’d Sleep,
On which the fierce-eyed Fiends their Revels keep,
And see the rising Sun, and feel it dart
New Rays of Pleasance trembling to the Heart.
On the Prospect of Establishing a Pantisocracy
in America
Whilst pale Anxiety, corrosive Care,
The tear of Woe, the gloom of sad Despair,
And deepen’d Anguish generous bosoms rend –
Whilst patriot souls their country’s fate lament;
Whilst mad with rage demoniac, foul intent,
Embattled legions Despots vainly send
To arrest the immortal mind’s expanding ray
Of everlasting Truth – I other climes
Where dawns, with hope serene, a brighter day
10 Than e’er saw Albion in her happiest times,
With mental eye exulting now explore,
And soon with kindred minds shall haste to enjoy
(Free from the ills which here our peace destroy)
Content and Bliss on Transatlantic shore.
Elegy,
IMITATED FROM ONE OF AKENSIDE’S BLANK – VERSE
INSCRIPTIONS
Near the lone pile with ivy overspread,
Fast by the rivulet’s sleep-persuading sound,
Where ‘sleeps the moonlight’ on yon verdant bed –
O humbly press that consecrated ground!
For there does Edmund rest, the learnèd swain!
And there his spirit most delights to rove:
Young Edmund! famed for each harmonious strain,
And the sore wounds of ill-requited love.
Like some tall tree that spreads its branches wide,
10 And loads the west-wind with its soft perfume,
His manhood blossomed: till the faithless pride
Of fair Matilda sank him to the tomb.
But soon did righteous Heaven her guilt pursue!
Where’er with wildered step she wandered pale,
Still Edmund’s image rose to blast her view,
Still Edmund’s voice accused her in each gale.
With keen regret, and conscious guilt’s alarms,
Amid the pomp of affluence she pined;
Nor all that lured her faith from Edmund’s arms
20 Could lull the wakeful horror of her mind.
Go, Traveller! tell the tale with sorrow fraught:
Some tearful maid perchance, or blooming youth,
May hold it in remembrance; and be taught
That riches cannot pay for Love or Truth.
The Faded Flower
Ungrateful he, who pluck’d thee from thy stalk,
Poor faded flow’ret! on his careless way;
Inhal’d awhile thy odours on his walk,
Then onward pass’d and left thee to decay.
Ah! melancholy emblem! had I seen
Thy modest beauties dew’d with Evening’s gem,
I had not rudely cropp’d thy parent stem,
But left thee, blushing, ’mid the enliven’d green.
And now I bent me o’er thy wither’d bloom,
10 And drop the tear – as Fancy, at my side,
Deep-sighing, points the fair frail Abra’s tomb –
‘Like thine, sad Flower, was that poor wanderer’s pride!
Oh! lost to Love and Truth, whose selfish joy
Tasted her vernal sweets, but tasted to destroy!’
Sonnet
Pale Roamer through the night! thou poor Forlorn!
Remorse that man on his death-bed possess,
Who in the credulous hour of tenderness
Betrayed, then cast thee forth to want and scorn!
The world is pitiless: the chaste one’s pride
Mimic of Virtue scowls on thy distress:
Thy Loves and they, that envied thee, deride:
And Vice alone will shelter wretchedness!
O! I could weep to think, that there should be
10 Cold-bosomed lewd ones, who endure to place
Foul offerings on the shrine of misery,
And force from famine the caress of Love;
May He shed healing on the sore disgrace,
He, the great Comforter that rules above!
Domestic Peace
Tell me, on what holy ground
May Domestic Peace be found –
Halcyon Daughter of the skies!
Far on fearful wings she flies,
From the pomp of sceptered State,
From the Rebel’s noisy hate;
In a cottaged vale She dwells
Listening to the Sabbath bells!
Still around her steps are seen
10 Spotless Honour’s meeker mien,
Love, the sire of pleasing fears,
Sorrow smiling through her tears,
And conscious of the past employ
Memory, bosom-spring of joy.
Sonnet
Thou bleedest, my poor Heart! and thy distress
Reasoning I ponder with a scornful smile,
And probe thy sore wound sternly, though the while
Swoln be mine eye and dim with heaviness.
Why didst thou listen to Hope’s whisper bland?
Or, listening, why forget the healing tale,
When Jealousy with feverous fancies pale
Jarred thy fine fibres with a maniac’s hand?
Faint was that Hope, and rayless! – Yet ’twas fair,
10 And soothed with many a dream the hour of rest:
Thou shouldst have loved it most, when most opprest,
And nursed it with an agony of care,
Even as a Mother her sweet infant heir
That wan and sickly droops upon her breast!
Sonnet
TO THE AUTHOR OF THE ‘ROBBERS’
Schiller! that hour I would have wished to die,
If through the shuddering midnight I had sent
From the dark dungeon of the tower time-rent
That fearful voice, a famished Father’s cry –
Lest in some after moment aught more mean
Might stamp me mortal! A triumphant shout
Black Horror screamed, and all her goblin rout
Diminished shrunk from the more withering scene!
Ah! Bard tremendous in sublimity!
10 Could I behold thee in thy loftier mood
Wandering at eve with finely frenzied eye
Beneath some vast old tempest-swinging wood!
Awhile with mute awe gazing I would brood:
Then weep aloud in a wild ecstasy!
Melancholy
A FRAGMENT
Stretch’d on a mouldered Abbey’s broadest wall,
Where ruining ivies propped the ruins steep –
Her folded arms wrapping her tattered pall,
Had melancholy mus’d herself to sleep.
The fern was press’d beneath her hair,
The dark green adder’s tongue was there;
And still as passed the flagging sea-gale weak,
The long lank leaf bowed fluttering o’er her cheek.
That pallid cheek was flushed: her eager look
10 Beamed eloquent in slumber! Inly wrought,
Imperfect sounds her moving lips forsook,
And her bent forehead worked with troubled thought.
Strange was the dream –
Songs of the Pixies
The Pixies, in the superstition of Devonshire, are a race of beings invisibly small, and harmless or friendly to man. At a small distance from a village in that county, half way up a wood-covered hill, is an excavation called the Pixies’ Parlour.
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